


Beyond The Notes

by Troublestarter12



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Angst and Feels, Angst?, Based off my friends and myself, Basically 4 years of high school band, Bullying, Chaos and more chaos, Character with PTSD, Colorblind Character, Concert Band, Concert Band AU, F/F, F/M, High School AU, Insecure babies, M/M, Marching Band, Marching Band AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patton and Deceit are awkward friends, Roman and Emile are bros, Virgil & Logan & Remy are a golden trio, Why is tagging so hard?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troublestarter12/pseuds/Troublestarter12
Summary: (Sanders Sides Band AU)Welcome to band! Where you'll cry, fall, and question everything you know. Where the people are just as crazy as you, if not more. Dont resist the call of the band room: just give in and accept these four walls as home.(I started a Marching Band AU on Tumblr as a small two part incorrect quote thing then decided to just write a "4 years in band" au instead.)





	1. Instruments/Roles

**Author's Note:**

> I'll begin this fully after I go on my band's New York Trip in about a week. It's just too hectic to really get into the plot right now/to have major updates.
> 
> If you want to see the inspiration from which this started then look at Marching Band AU at incorrectsandersidessayings on Tumblr since I will try to stick kind of close to that characterization.

I got bored one day and started a Marching Band AU on my secondary Tumblr (incorrectsandersidessayings) when I realized I could just write on here. Thus let me give you their roles.

 

Logan Locke: A gifted concert baritone player turned marching trombone. His love of all things brass led him to continously learn new techniques for his instruments and also give him leeway to branch out to other instruments if he so chose to. After being asked by numerous friends, he auditioned for Drum Major not expecting to get it. He really didn't know what he had got himself into. He feared that Mr. S had made a grave mistake for choosing him. He didn't know how to conduct let alone do it for a hundred plus people that depended on him. He struggles with the thought that he will never be able to fill the shoes the previously graduated Drum Major left behind. 

Patton Hart: An oboist with a passion for music but sometimes lacks the skill. He works for his spot as 3rd oboe but still makes mistakes like any human being. His real joy comes from Marching Season. His cousin convinced him to do Color Guard the spring before freshman year which he soon fell in love with. From the creative makeup and comfortable uniforms to the joy of performing, Patton had found a new hobby he cherished dearly. Freshman year had been rough on him both mentally and emotionally. But releasing the stress on the field helped him get through it. He now prides himself on being a better Color Guard Captain than the previous one (for reasons to be known).

Roman Slain: Roman was a bright-eyed 8th grader that had hoped to make Color Guard but was not exactly the best at catching anything or keeping his feet in time. He then proceeded to audition for pit once he got lessons from the Percussion Captain before 9th grade's beginning. He spent hours upon hours learning with Nick until late into the evening. Before band camp had even started, Roman had all movements memorized; a feat not even some Junior players could admit to. His skill with four mallets is untouched by anyone else and has gotten him many callbacks from DCI scouts. Whenever another pit member asks him about it, he will simply smile softly before explain it should go to someone who be a better player than he. Many have commended him on his astounding musical gift but it appears to fall on deaf ears. If only it was that easy for Roman to see that he was talented and deserved the spots he so often turned down.

 

Reese (Deceit) Wylde: Never quite fitting into anything he tried, Reese has become a well known "Transplant" in the band. He constantly switches instruments because none of them feel just right. Whether it be piccolo on Monday or bassoon on Wednesday, he never can stick to just one instrument for too long. Nonetheless, he plays just as well on each instrument he tries as those who had been playing for years now. If anyone tells him to stick to just one instrument, he will roll his eyes and sneer with disgust as if the very thought was unfathomable or impossible for him to accomplish. He will often lie about minuscule things to appear relatable which only ever seem to backfire in his face. His dishonesty is only because he wishes to belong with someone or something. During Marching Season he plays trumpet, the instrument he first learned as a 6th grader, but still feels as if he doesn't belong there either. 

 

Virgil Alexanders: A quiet tenor sax turned center snare takes on the task of wrangling the Battery Section as he also figures out what being Percussion Captain really means. Oftentimes he wonders if he should have just stuck to Tenor Sax but as soon as his stick is poised in the middle of his snare the thought fades to the back of his mind. Being center snare had thrown him for a loop as he tried to conquer his fear of the crowd. He wasn't always with this band though. Having moved halfway through freshman year for reasons he refuses to say and without a spot, he became a temporary Band Manager. His mind occasionally wanders off to think of a timeline in which he never left his previous school. Still, he wouldn't wish to be anywhere else but here now he has seen the other side of band. 

Remy Peters: Extravagant, loud, and easily heard fits Remy just as well as it does his Eb Clarinet. Remy has a raw natural talent for music which frustrates more than half the clarinet section, let alone the band. He is only bested in Music Theory and The Flight of the Bumblebee by Logan. Remy is Woodwind Captain due to lack of any other upperclassmen woodwinds. But his older sister had a good enough reputation as a Bass Clarinet player when she had marched so many years prior that it was simply logical he take over the position. Some days he worries he will never live up to the legacy she left behind for him to continue. He tries to make up for it in the way he aides his "woodwind delinquents". He's continually loud and sometimes scary as he had a kind of tough-love with his fellow wind players. However he holds a soft spot for every single one of his "children".

 

Emile Picani: An upbeat French Horn player who worked his ass off to get to the level of skill he has now. Through endless lip slurs and sleepless nights filled with rythym exercises, he made a reputation as being the best French Horn in the district. He got first chair in District Honor Band his second year playing and 4th chair in State-Wide Honor Band. During Marching Season he plays lead Mellophone with a precision that amazes all those who can hear him. He takes it upon himself as Brass Captain to personally tutor all brass who seek him out for help free of charge. Yet, he still feels less than adequate as a musician.


	2. Summer Days Drifting Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys get ready for their first day of Band Camp (well, most of them). Plus a little backstory on our boys prior to the start of their freshman year.

The blazing sun rose across the east sky-sill, surrounded by blushing pinks and apricot oranges. The sky was awake, announcing so gloriously, unlike the young teens stumbling as they try to keep their eyes open and yawns suppressed. 

As a group of 4 pass through the threshold of the band room, our story unfolds. 

Lena Franco was holding her Guard bag in one hand and her dot folder in the other. Atop her head sits tie-dye sunglasses, glistening with a light dusting of OceanSpray SPF 50. Her dark hair falls to her mid-back, barely covering her caramel skin that is fully exposed due to her razor-back tank. 

She holds her head high, out of habit rather than of pride, as she listens to the jokes Nathan and Julie tell beside her. Lena looks to her left as she hears Julie snort over something Nathan had said. Shaking her head disapprovingly, she purses her lips as she notices someone missing from the quartet. She glances over her shoulder to find her baby cousin, Patton, trailing behind.

Lena's lips turned down as her worry settled over her like a blanket. She knew Patton was nervous, she even blatantly addressed it when she told him he didn't need to be, but he had no reason to feel so out of place. Then again, Lena always was a hypocrite as she recalls her first day of Band Camp. She had gotten herself up into such a fizzy that she ended up throwing up over her nerves. 

Patton Hart notices his cousin's concerned looks and tries to send a reassuring smile that ultimately falls flat. His fingers grip his Guard bag tightly to compensate for the sweat gathering on his hands. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to him. 

Not because of what he feared others would whisper about but what Lena would think of him. For as long as he can remember Lena has always been 10 steps ahead of him. Whether it be academics or babysitting, he always falls short of Lena Franco's reputation. 

As an only child his "friends" always complained that he would never know what having a sibling was like. In a way, they are correct that he will never know exactly what it is like. But he does know about his perfect cousin living next door outshining him at every turn. Some days he feels less like a person and more like a small shadow of the Great Lena.

He sighs as he sneaks a peak at the watch in his wrist. 7:41 the little clock taunts. Only 20 minutes until his first official day of Band Camp begins. 

 

Across the way, a white 2015 Dodge Charger pulls into the Senior Parking lot. The hum of the engine soon stalls, leaving two of the three occupants avoiding conversation as the Top 20 plays lowly in the background. The driver glances in his rear view mirror, huffing under his breath as he catches the young boys' eyes before they avert their gaze. 

DeAngelo Sparks runs a hand through his sable hair before taking a thin hair tie off his left wrist. He messily makes a low man-bun before turning around in his seat. 

"Alright you two, I know you don't necessarily want to be here. Lord knows I don't," DeAngelo confesses,"but we are doing this. So buck up and get over your little awkward act now. Trust me, it will help out in the long run."

Roman Slain, honey eyes blown wide, nods quickly as the brunette next to him does the same. Roman then shifts towards the boy next to him, sticks out his hand slowly, and dies a little inside. 

"I'm Roman Slain, freshman, and I'm in pit," Roman mumbles, feeling his ear tinge with heat. 

The smaller boy grasps Roman's hand loosely and feebly shakes it. 

"Emile Picani, freshman, and I march mellophone," The boy, Emile, shakily utters before pushing his slipping glasses further up his nose. 

The introduction was less than spectacular but DeAngelo would take it as a win. He knew the boys were uncomfortable with each other but he also knew that everyone needs at least one friend by the end of the first day. They may not be "best buddies", and they may never be, but you need the strength of friends to pull you through the worst (but best) two weeks of your life. 

 

Roman watches as DeAngelo unlocks his phone. 7:43 the iPhone clock shows before DeAngelo opens his text messages. Roman quickly looks away, from shame or out of respect he knows not, and fiddles with the medium soft mallets resting in his bag. 

Roman's red shorts fall an inch or two above his knee, contrasting against the grey, size-too-large muscle tee he donned. He could feel his arctic cold, gallon water jug sweating against his left calf as the small beads of water trail down towards his white ankle socks. 

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of his car seat. 8 hours of finger-bleeding work in one day for a single 10-12 minute show. The very idea was outrageous to him but he was newly welcomed, more like christened, into the world of musicians. Maybe this was normal for those who have been playing since 5th or 6th grade. Like a destiny those young, ambitious musicians knew was for them and them alone. 

He liked to believe picking instruments was like Harry Potter wands where the instrument picks the person. When he had exclaimed his theory to Nick the senior boy had smiled saying,"I sure hope that's true, buddy."

Roman also liked to believe he had become like a little brother to Nicholas Coultas over the past few months. Nick was kind, accepting, and always so empowering. Roman felt he could do anything whenever Nick gave him a pep talk. 

When Roman had unintentionally came out to his friend by blurting out how he maybe had a small infatuation with DeAngelo, under the twinkle lights on Nick's back porch, the elder boy chuckled. Regardless, Nick listened intently as Roman listed the reasons why he thought of DeAngelo in that way.

"I mean have you seen his hair? And his helix piercing?! He's.... just well... you know," Roman's words grew softer as the tips of his ears burned crimson,"kinda hot."

 

Nick's eyes gleamed with mischief and wore a wild grin,"Well I would hope so. I am dating him after all." 

Roman's face turned whiter than Nick's house as he desperately tried to do damage control or, at the very least, apologize. But Nick had waved it off and patted Roman softly on his right shoulder three consecutive times.

"I get it man, DeAngelo is killer hot. You don't have to apologize for that or anything you said for that matter," Nick comfortingly assured,"Whether you like men, women, both or neither you will always be my little drummer pal." 

Roman opens his eyes and smiles softly at DeAngelo through the mirror, seeing the faintest blush on his sun-kissed cheeks. Roman's mind throws out his woes as he realized everything would be alright. 

 

 

Emile Picani was a whole other story. He was picking at a string on his drawstring backpack, trying and failing to calm his troubled mind. He had cast a look to his left to see Roman dozing off or at least resting his eyes. Meanwhile, DeAngelo was busy texting Nick, probably about the movie they were going to see this weekend. 

Emile's mother had been on the tennis team with DeAngelo's mom way back in their high school days. When Emile's family had moved back to Florida, about 6 years ago, Mrs. Sparks had almost immediately heard about it. She was the closest thing to a town gossip they had, making her bond with his mother all the more unbearable. 

Throughout the years, Emile has been adopted by the Sparks family as their unofficial second child. Emile doesn't mind being seen in that light, especially when that means he can walk over to their house on the corner and play with Tori anytime he wanted. 

Tori is an emotional support dog for Mr. Sparks. She's a real sweet 5 year old German Shepherd trained to help those with PTSD and anxiety. Besides, Mr. Sparks doesn't mind Emile coming over to play with Tori since he can't exactly do it himself. 

It was a little deal the two males had struck up somewhere along the years. Emile would play fetch with Tori in the backyard as he listened to Mr. Sparks stories and drank iced, pink lemonade. The encounter would end once Mr. Sparks began growing weary or, on some odd days, when the sun was setting and his mother came calling for his return. 

He would always volunteer to wash the glasses out of courtesy but Mr. Sparks always refused. 

"He's too stubborn and prideful," DeAngelo would say, "Even before he was in that wheelchair, my dad would never let anyone do anything for him."

Emile gazed into cool gray eyes, contrasting his warm hazel, as he finds himself questioning, "Why?"

DeAngelo shrugged,"My dad just likes to be in control of his own life, you know?"

"Whenever he was sick when I was a kid he would make himself chicken soup and split it with me, no matter how horrible he had felt," DeAngelo's eyes had a glaze over them, as if he was light years away from this moment in time. 

Just as quickly as the memory had resurfaced, it disappeared back to the trenches of his chaotic mind. Emile looked out the tinted window and counted to 25 in his head, drifting off to a place far from his current predicament. 

 

On the soccer/band practice field sat two boys under the shade of the band tower. One with jet black hair slicked back with gel until not even a single hair was out of place. The other adorned a floral SnapBack with "Caffeine Me" in eloquent rose colored cursive, covering his wild locks of auburn curls. 

Logan Locke and Remy Peters were accustomed to the operation of Band Camp. Remy due to his older sister, who graduated two years prior, and Logan through upperclassmen friends he had made in his time of playing with honor bands. 

The two know in the matter of 15 minutes a flood of other students will make their way to the green field, instrument and jug in hand. Too soon will the pair be broken from the peace they had created together under the rising sun. 

Remy sighs and flops backwards onto the dewey grass. His eyes look forward into the never ending blue sky, but sees his companion drumming his fingers against his knee. 

"It'll be fine dude," Remy attempts to ease his friend (were they? Remy will deal with that another time), "You are going to do great. Besides, Jarrett already loves you."

Logan takes a look behind him towards his friend? acquaintance? He takes a look behind him to Remy, seeing his Panic pink and blue tie-dye tank top clinging to his stomach, and blows harsh air out his nose. 

"That should not play a factor into me not messing up everything," Logan retorts, a little irritated at Remy for such a comment. 

Remy snorts before trying to conceal his smile,"Please Lo, this whole operation is full of favoritism. I should know."

Logan huffs as he crosses his arms over his water-chilled shirt--Logan will say because he wants to be prepared, but Remy knows Logan can be, if not more, extra than him at times-- and goes to fiddle with his glasses.

His hand falls limply into his lap when he remembers he put contacts in this morning out of fear he would drop and break his glasses. He lays his body across his trombone case as he tries to calm himself. He knew there was nothing to be worried about, nothing logical at least, but a knot in his stomach would say otherwise. 

What if he isn't a good enough marcher? What if he causes a whole line of people to domino because he fell? What if he was scared of failure? 

The last thought was true. Logan was terrified of letting down those around him. He wants to be the best so he can help others reach the same zenith. That's where he likes to believe the cursed problem stemmed from. He fears digging deeper into his mind and find more issues than he does answers. 

Remy takes the silence as a bad sign and gently moves into an upright position. He wraps his pinky finger around the older boy's, earning a peculiar look from the other. 

"I solemnly swear that I will always be here if you so need me, no matter the day or time," Remy promises, wrapping his pinky tighter around Logan's. 

Logan squeezes back,"I solemnly swear that I will always have your back through thick and thin, even if you may cause the problem in the first place." 

The two boys gaze into each other's eyes before Remy collapses in a heap of giggles. 

"Oh, I love you dude. We're going to be an unstoppable pair, you know. With my good looks," Remy wiggles his eyebrows, before gesturing to Logan," and your insane brainiac mind we would be the best superhero or super villain duo the world has ever seen."

Logan shakes his head at his friend's, definitely friend's, eccentrics before leaning further back into his trombone case. He knew he was being illogical but it took an even more illogical person to snap him out of it. This would certainly be a most interesting year. 

 

 

A boy of 14 walks northbound with a trumpet case and jug in hand. His ash blonde hair falls past his ears and is swept towards the left side of his face. Sunglasses, yellow sides and black frames, sit neatly on his otherwise unruly hair. He stifles a yawn as he grows closer to his destination. 

Reese Wylde was not jumping for joy over being up this early nor having to be at school before it gets back into secession. His heart leaps as he suddenly remembers he was only three weeks out from being a freshman; two of which he will be spending out in the unforgiving sun. 

Summer had gone by too fast yet not fast enough.

Reese wasn't the worst student around but he often times forgot deadlines on assignments leading to multiple half-credit works. He enjoyed learning what he deemed interesting but dreaded what came with it. 

Reese remembers when he first heard a doctor tell him he had complete heterochromia. Previously his mother had always told him he was different and beautiful regardless. It wasn't until he got to middle school when people really began to notice how different he was. 

His left eye was green, borderline yellow, whereas his right was a dark, muddy color. At least, that's what everyone else tells him. Reese wouldn't know as he also "suffers" from Cone-Monochromacy. In other words, he was a total colorblind, heterochromic freak with burn scars from a night when he was barely 3. 

Beautiful his mother had exclaimed. Rare his doctor had said. Weird, strange, unnatural, hideous taunted the cold, unrelenting stares he received and bullies that accompanied them. 

Reese speed walks past a white car sitting idle in its resting place and darts to the open doors of the band room. Inside he finds three upperclassmen, most likely seniors, talking adamantly and laughing without a care in the world. He stealthily makes his way to the lockers, claiming the middle medium sized locker as his own. 

As he turns back to the open floor of the main room he notices the far right practice room's door ajar. He knows he probably shouldn't bother whoever may be within but he can't help himself. He feels compelled to check in on the small room's occupant, like a force bigger than himself was pushing him to make sure everything was okay. 

With a nod of resignation, he gives into the invisible force and grabs the door's handle. Opening the door slowly he finds a boy about his age curled up into himself, as if he was trying to disappear from this mortal plain. 

Before he can attempt to leave and get someone qualified to deal with the situation, the boy shakily lifts his head and stares directly into Reese's eye. Reese watches as more unspilled tears collect on the waterline of the teen as his bottom lip begins to quiver. 

"Uh..... hey?" Reese attempts, sounding increasingly less confident than he felt. 

The boy sniffles and wipes his eyes with his sleeve,"H-..hey." 

Reese gently shuts the door behind him before he sits down, criss-cross applesauce, across from the emotional boy. 

The silence filled the small room in an uncomfortable feeling, self-doubt creeping into both boys' minds. 

Reese bites the bullet as he props his elbows on his knees,"I'm Reese Wylde but people call me Deceit. And no, you can't know why. I play trumpet and do not feel great about today. And you are?"

Reese looks expectantly at the boy across from him as he finally squeaks out,"I'm Patton H-h-hart. I, uh, wasn't going to ask. I don't fe-eel great about today eith-either. I'm on Color Guard." 

The silence returned, enveloping them both before the faintest compliment broke through. 

"I like your shirt. Teal is really pretty."

Reese shrugs,"I wouldn't know."

Patton looked like a confused puppy,"What d-do you mean?"

Reese leans against the soundproof wall, crossing his arms against his chest,"I'm completely colorblind. Never have seen a color in all my years alive and probably never will."

Patton's face had obtained a look even more devastating than the one he first wore," Oh, I uh I had no clue. That uh must, you know, really suck, I...uh... I mean that's sort of sad. You real-really don't know color? Wait, that means you don't have a fav-favorite color!"

Reese ponders what Patton just said. Did he have a favorite color?

"I do," exclaimed Reese decisively,"My favorite color is yellow."

Patton had a new light in his eyes, as if it was Christmas morning and Reese was Santa Clause. 

"Why yellow?" Patton asked, politely with almost a full blown grin. 

"My mom's favorite flowers are tulips, especially the yellow ones she says. But also because an old friend of mine tried to explain color to me through ideas, physical things, feelings and memories," Reese fondly recalls.

"She said yellow was like a smile that shows all your teeth, a baby's first laugh, feeding ducks downtown, and laying on a trampoline in the middle of summer after chasing down the ice cream truck. I like the way yellow sounds so it's my favorite color," Reese deduced, letting a smile stretch across his face as warmth floods his chest.

"That's really sweet," Patton says clearly once he knows his voice will no longer shake. 

"Yeah, it is. What about you? What's your favorite color?" 

Patton smiles widely,"Light blue, all the way. It's kinda like jumping into a clear ocean on a blazing day, ice skating on New Years Day, hugging an old friend you haven't seen in a while, and being swarmed by adorable puppies when you go into the Puppy Circle at PetSmart."

Reese mirrors Patton's grin,"I think I may have found my second favorite color." 

Patton nods as the two once more fall into quiet, although not quite as unbearably awkward as before. The two were still practically strangers but hopefully this awkward phase will soon diverge into a friendship for the pair. 

Reese checks his watch before announcing,"It's 7:57. We should probably go find our sections."

Patton hops up, dusting his legs off from invisible dirt," Yeah, we probably should. I'll, uh, see you around?"

Reese opens the door wider as he exits,"Uh, definitely. Yeah, sure. Great."

Reese turns quickly on his heel to escape the weird encounter he had caused before going to sit with the trumpet section. As the band room soon fills up with students of all ages, body types, and instruments/sections Reese finds himself looking forward to the upcoming matching season. 

 

 

In Raleigh, Virginia a pale boy of 14 hugs his knees to his chest. His chestnut hair covers his eyes as does his hoodie. To the right of him lays a bronze tenor sax, long forgotten by its owner at this point. 

Virgil Alexanders day had gone from bad to worse. First his cat got out when his step-dad, Joshua Clough, accidentally left the garage door open. Josh had promised to print off missing flyers as soon as he got home from work. Although his words were sincere and true, Josh had called off from work to search for his son's cherished cat. 

But Virgil has no idea his step-dad is out searching for Sabrina at the moment. What he does know is that Avery Kennan is an asshole. 

Avery had stormed into the band room, his neck veins bulging out slightly, looking for some freshman to torment. Avery is the trumpet section leader who cause more harm than good. 

Apparently, the Band Director was unhappy about how a few trumpets were doing in basic block the past week during Rookie Camp. He had called Avery in to talk about it, resulting in his boiling fury. With all of his section gone, he decided to pick on the quiet tenor sax freshman. 

Virgil's lava hot tears rolled down his face, pass his bruising lip stained red, before dripping of his chin into his worn black and purple hoodie. His shoulders shake as he takes a gasping breath, his airways refusing to let him breathe properly. The room feels too small as the air squeezes and burns his lungs. 

Why? Why him? Why today of all days did this have to happen? 

The poor boy curls into himself further, making breathing even more of a chore. Another 10 minutes and the roll would be called. Five minutes after that and Jennifer will get worried, calling his phone until he picks up or she can track him down. Seven and a half hours before he can go home and most likely not have Sabrina there to comfort him. 

Virgil's tears fall faster as the realization settles in that he was alone. No friends there to help him, no cat there to ease his anguish, no one around who would notice if he just vanished in thin air. 

Virgil made up his mind, then and there, as he clutched his hoodie sleeves impossibly tight that this year would be the most heinous of all his miserable existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small chapter to hold over until I can write full chapters after my New York band trip. It's not my best so I'm sorry but enjoy, I guess? Sorry if it sucks, I kinda rushed this in 15 minutes I had after my APUSH Time Period 8 test.


End file.
